Long stripes of petrichor,
gather in the cuff-corners
of the nightwalk - I miss her,
the blonde from group therapy
however many years ago, L-----,
whose upper case traumas
mirrored mine on that beige couch
by the waiting room sand garden.
Hard-hided years, those,
& I hope she did OK.
Myself: I tried in desperation to marry
someone who simply didn't run,
& you can imagine how that went.
I remember seeing L----- on a Wednesday
or Thursday morning, so surprised
I existed outside therapy. Greening wings
of grass spread across Farragut's diagonal,
& her black shoe arch pressed the world
firmly away. She rafted into a doorway
as everyone eventually does in a life.
The sun called in sick, the moon
maw yawed and yawned, the sea
throbbed foam over stone. New rain
on my face - it was just rain, just rain, just rain...
I started this series with really high ambitions, but basically nothing has gone the way I had hoped or according to plan... so I am basically just going to revert to my normal style and write things loosely related to the card in question. No more wild tour of every poetic style in the book, apologies! I kept finding that the meter and rhyme schemes were getting in my way and no amount of creative corner cutting could restore the meaning that got lost.
